After the Storm
by Melbourne Ardell
Summary: A short Neville/Luna one shot, taking place immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts.


If he weren't completely numb from everything that had taken place in the past twelve hours, Neville's skin would have been burning from the cuts and bruises that cluttered his body. He still held Gryffindor's sword loosely in one hand, but other than that he didn't think he had much control over his muscles or body. He was fairly certain that he couldn't stand if his life had depended on it-fortunately, it no longer did.

Luna sat crouched beside him, her dress and shirt tattered and stained, blood smeared across her right cheek. Even coated in dirt and grime, she seemed to shine as bright as a star in the gloomy hall. Catching his gaze, the girl gave Neville a soft smile, and he couldn't help but grin a bit goofily back at her-she seemed to have that affect on him.

"Shall we go for a walk?" she asked in her soft, sweet voice, eyes as bright as ever.

Just like that, Neville's body remembered how to function-his heart started beating double time and his legs seemed ready to sprint all the way to London if Luna so desired.

"Where would we go?" he asked doubtfully.

"Oh, not far. I just thought it might be nice to get some fresh air….and some peace and quiet. It's a bit noisy and crowded in here, don't you think?"

Neville nodded, though in the physical sense neither of those things was entirely true. There weren't nearly as many people as there would be at a feast, and it was fairly quiet-everyone was still mourning and in shock from the battle and the losses sustained therein. But Neville's ears seemed to ring with a mere whisper, and just the presence of even a few people was quite overwhelming.

The battered boy rose to his feet, and took Luna's outstretched hand; her skin felt so soft and smooth on his blistered and sweaty palm. Not a single person spared them a glance as they stepped over the rubble in the entrance hall and emerged into the cloud-filtered sunlight of the early morning; Neville doubted it was far past dawn.

It wasn't until they were a decent way through the grounds that Neville realized he was still clutching the sword in the hand that wasn't attached to Luna. His bloody hand seemed unwilling to leave the hilt, as if it had been glued there.

Neville continued to blindly followed Luna's gentle touch, and it wasn't until they were almost at their destination did he realize where they were headed.

"The Whomping Willow? Don't you think we'll be clobbered?" as much as Neville wanted to be around Luna, if really didn't feel like sustaining any more injuries-especially not at the hands of a bad-tempered tree.

"No," she said simply, smiling over her shoulder at him, her long blonde hair whipping around her face in the breeze. "It seems that after times like this, people unite-trees too, I think. Just for today, I do think we'll find it to be quite welcoming and friendly."

Sure enough, the tree didn't raise a branch against them, but simply swayed in the wind like any other willow tree one would stumble across in the woods. As the clouds began to cry silver tears onto their heads, Neville finally released his grip on the sword and leaned it point down against the trunk of the Whomping Willow.

Neville took Luna's other hand in his now free one, and they stood like that, facing each other, as the rain slowly washed the blood and grime from their skin. For a while he simply stared into her eyes-they were such a beautiful green, dancing like leaves in the sunlight.

Then, perhaps it was the magic of the school amplifying the raw emotions in their hearts, it seemed as though all of their sorrow and pain, their hope and relief, created a song that weaved through their ears-a solemn yet beautiful waltz that nearly drove them both to tears.

Neville, in a sudden moment of determination and confidence, gently pulled Luna against him, and placed a hand on her lower back. She laced her fingers behind his neck, and when she smiled up at him it was as though the sun had broken through the clouds and was warming his very bones.

At some point they both lost their shoes, and the wet grass crunched beneath their sore feet, winding between their toes as they spun in circles and sashayed in the rain, droplets like silver mercury bouncing off of Luna's pale skin and her glowing golden hair-she was the sun and the moon, all happiness and serenity and solitude, so often alone, but so rarely lonely.

She was a sculpture carved from ice that glinted in any light, no matter how dull. She was the fog that hung over a seaside town in the early morning, silver and floating, but untouchable. And yet here Neville was, touching her; her skin was so thin and translucent that he could see the spidery veins creeping across her inner wrists; and he thought to himself that he had never seen anything so beautiful-nor likely would again.

Her lips weren't soft, as he had expected, but a bit chapped-though cool, like the breeze, contrasted by her warm breath that left a puff of steam in the chilly dawn air whenever she exhaled, or sighed in tempo with the melody.

They danced in perfect harmony, never breaking rhythm, water spinning in their wake, until their pain evaporated in the rays of light that were just beginning to peek through the clouds. They threw themselves onto the grass, and the beads of water that clung there kissed their skin.

Holding tightly to each other's hands, they watched the Willow's branches saunter aimlessly through the gusts of air, and squinted into the sunlight. Even if snow was to start powdering the earth, Neville and Luna alone would remain warm, because summer was flowing through their veins, and happiness gallivanted across their flushed faces, having suppressed the grief that had threatened to break them.

Everything around them was shining, and bright, and brilliant, and as he held her fragile hand in his, and every nerve scattered throughout his body radiated with the calamity of a falling star, he vowed to never let go.


End file.
